Grey Regen 8

 “What the hell are you?”

“Innocent,” I said flatly. “And a bit hungry.”

Hissing, Petras snatched his dagger from the floor, took two quick steps toward me, and drove the weapon into my side, just below my ribs. Though no longer glowing, it was still scorching hot, and I could feel it burning inside me.

I’d had worse.

His beetle-black eyes searched mine for any hint of pain or fear he could console himself with, but I gave him nothing.

He ripped the dagger out and stared at the wound. I let the aether flow freely. Half still filtered downward toward Regis, but the rest went to the deep cut in my side. It slowly began to heal over. Finally, Petras slumped to my cot and fell into it. He stayed like that for a couple of minutes, silently glaring up at the low ceiling.

“I’ve never seen anyone heal as quickly as you, and yet your mana doesn’t react to my crest. My touch should turn every nerve in your body to fire if you have any mana in you at all. I don’t understand it.” He turned his head so he was staring at me. His fury had faded to wary curiosity. “Is it an emblem? A…a regalia? I was told your runes were vague, but nothing unusual.”

I shrugged awkwardly, pinned to the wall like I was.